Good together
by leuska
Summary: "They truly are a match. A perfect messy match." Based on the 4x23 ALWAYS Promos and spoilers. Yes, this is my take on THAT possible scene. Its pure PWP and NC-17. If you are spoiler-free and NC-17 is not your thing, please, run away.All others - welcome


**Good together**

He pushes her against his front door, slamming it shut with her back. He's a bit rough. She likes it.

She didn't know what to expect when she found her feet carrying her back towards his loft, back towards _him_, because of everything that's been said that very day. He betrayed her, in the worst possible way imaginable – over her mother's case. But she is even more shocked to find out, only hours after discovering and wallowing over it, that she doesn't really care. Well, she does. It still hurts. But it doesn't matter. Because it takes nothing away from the way she feels about him, from that intensity clenching her chest whenever she thinks about him.

Her mom's case is still a fundamental part of her. But so is he. It's futile to deny that. And so she comes back, just hours after they fought and she left, needing the space to think things through, let it sink in.

So here she is, with her back pressed against his front door, her wet clothes sticking to it as he pushes her body up, always up. He's intense, if in a somewhat desperate way, but so is she. Because this? This is the culmination of four years of denial and self-deceit. And so yes, she's untidy and wet and he is desperate and insistent and it's far messier that she would ever expected, but she wouldn't want it any other way.

It's not perfect, by no means. She's freezing in her soaked clothes, her back scraping against the door in an extremely uncomfortable manor. His kisses are urgent yet sloppy and he often misses his mark, his fingers digging into her sides with more force than he is probably aware of; possessive and aggressive. A drowning man.

She isn't in a much different state. She dribbles all over him as she grasps at him frantically, wanting him closer, ever closer. She groans into his mouth - cannot help herself - wondering when exactly they skipped the simple lips-on-lips part. Ah yeah, they didn't. There wasn't one to begin with. Not that she minds, she thinks as her teeth catch on his lower lip, nibbling and sucking, tongue messily tangling with his until a low groan leaves his mouth from deep down his throat. She wants to hear that sound again. She wants to _make him_ do it again. Scratch that, she wants _him_. She grasps at his hair, takes fistfuls of it, tugs forcibly, bringing him ever closer. His scalp must be aching, but he doesn't seem to mind. Not even close.

They truly are a match. A perfect messy match.

There is not an inch left between them now, his face buried below her chin, leaving a wet trail of kisses down her throat. She cannot get enough, it's all so much and yet so little and she can feel the fire spread through her insides, warming her half-frozen limbs.

She gasps when he reaches the column of her throat, his tongue assaulting the hollow between her collarbones before he switches to suck on her pulse vein. Warmth pools down her legs and she can barely stand.

"Castle," She moans, her mouth dangerously close to his ear. She moans his name once again before she bites the soft flesh of his lobe to get his attention. She feels his sudden intake of breath then and smirks.

There is a second of calmness, where everything around them stills and they are standing motionless. He is still buried at her throat with hands tightly squeezing her sides just over her hips, the side of her face resting over his dark crown, fists full of his hair. There is this sudden lull in their dance and she wonders why he'd stopped, before his voice, oh so soft, reverberates through the skin of her throat sending another round of goose bumps rippling through her flesh.

"You came back," he croaks, and there is so much emotion behind those three words that she can barely breathe. He sounds broken, scared, insecure, relieved and on the verge of tears all at the same time. He really believed that earlier was the last he ever saw of her. Her heart breaks for him and so she cradles him even closer, directing his head towards her chest, burying her mouth into his hair and softly kissing him there. A rush of breath leaves her throat, something from deep within.

"_Always_," she whispers back. It takes a whole ten seconds before their world starts moving again. A deep sigh reverberates through his chest (she feels it rattle her too) and she wishes there was some other way to assure him of her feelings but words. Despite, this single word, which is loaded with so much meaning for the two of them, seems to be enough. He raises his head slowly, brining his face as close to hers as possible and simply looks at her. Long and deep, observing, assessing.

For the first time in months, years even, she isn't hiding but rather lying all bare before him to see. Because he needs to know, he deserves to know, but most importantly of all, she _wants_ him to know. _Everything_.

This time when he kisses her, it's different. It's soft and slow, languid and sweet. It's an affirmation of love, of happiness, sort of a reward for something they've both been waiting for so long to finally happen.

Her hands come to cradle his face, caressing the smooth flesh of his cheeks, her lips returning his kiss with as much feeling. Right now, in her world, nothing else matters. Not her mother's case, not her wet clothes, not the lies and deceit, not even their awkward position against his door.

They break up eventually, if only for a moment to catch their breaths. One of his hands comes to cradle her skull, cushion it against the hard surface of the door, fingers tangling in her wet hair. Their eyes lock. She is breathless. And he? He smiles. One of those special, face splitting, heart-warming smiles that make his eyes crinkle and her heart swell, a smile that can make her feel invincible, cherished, special, a one-of-a-kind. She never wants him to stop looking at her like that.

Before she knows, her lips are once again locked on his, her need for him suddenly greater than any sense of reason. Four years in the making, this is what they've been slowly circling towards. It might not be as romantic or rationed as she might have wished, but it's still them. They are here and they are tired of pretending and damn, she wants him, now, because the way his kisses make her feel is not nearly enough. She wants more, she wants it all, and she wants in right now.

Mentally, they may be a well-working duo, the way they know and understand each other. But physically? They've shared nothing but a single kiss and a couple of hand caresses. She cannot understand how they've made it so far without…His hand pushes her jacket away, fingers sneaking under her shirt and cradling her hip. Her side burns with the touch and all her thoughts seem to leave her head in an instant.

Only later will she wonder how they managed to stumble their way from his front door to the bedroom, all the while shedding her wet clothes in chunks on their way along with some of his own. She barely registers her back hitting the mattress, her mind noting the bed's soft and silky surface (just how she always imagined) before he is on top of her, his chest already bare and hers nearly as well, the only barrier left in between the soaked material of her white bra.

It's the first time they have a time to truly look at one another, Kate realizes, and he seems to come to the same conclusion. He stills his movements and holds her eyes when her hands come to cradle his face before they travel lower down, ghost over his neck and shoulders, slide down his torso, her fingernails clawing themselves against his nipples for the shortest of moments before she retracts her talons, continuing down only with the gentle pads of her fingers, down and further down over his stomach until they reach the hem of his jeans. They are slightly damp, his jeans, soaked from her own clothes, and a sudden urge a possessiveness grips her heart. She's finally made the step, can finally claim him as hers. She never thought it would make her feel so powerful, make her so proud. This is, of course, not something she would ever admit to him. No need to feed his ever overgrowing ego. Still, some of those thoughts must seep into her look, because a slow grin spreads through his face now, his eyes darkening.

He dips his head to steal a deep, heated kiss that steals her breath away, forcing her to release a humming sound from deep within her throat, her fingers curling themselves inside the belt of his jeans, gripping them tightly. When he releases her mouth again, there is more tenderness in his eyes, rimmed with a fair dose of mischief as he continues to stare at her, and that's still just her face. His right hand reaches out to cradle her bare side, his fingers dancing over her ribcage and she nearly moans then, but he still holds her gaze, his eyes never wavering, and something in that look captivates her so much that she can't look away, can't give in the urge to close her eyes and let the sensations fully overflow her mind while his fingers dance still more maddeningly over her flesh.

So she reaches out instead, bringing him down for a bruising kiss. He has no idea, this infuriating man, what he does to her, but she'll be damned if by the time she's done with him tonight he has any lingering doubts how she truly feels about him.

She dips her tongue inside his mouth and his fingers squeeze her side painfully on the contact, surely to leave a mark later. Something in that thought thrills her. He breaks the kiss, abandoning her swollen lips only to continue with her throat instead, trailing hot, urgent kisses down her throat and lower, ever lower, much the same route she chose earlier with her fingers on his chest.

He reaches the hollow between her breast, that little strip of puckered flesh she's all but forgotten about now and…freezes. So does she. They stay like that for a moment, simply frozen in the moment, neither daring to move. His head feels way too heavy against her chest, but she realizes it's not her imagination, not her mind playing tricks on her for her own unresolved issues. At least where her scars are concerned, she came to a point of accepting them for being a part of her body a long time ago. But Castle, obviously, has not. She should have known.

He still hasn't moved, hasn't said a word. Despite her skin being still damp from the rain, Kate can feel another kind of dampness land in tiny droplets somewhere on the skin covering her heart and she nearly shatters from inside out. Dread fills her chest, the arousal she felt only moments ago gone in a flash. She realizes what that dampness is only too well, what it means just as his forehead presses even heavier against her breastbone, the burden of his guilt and sorrow pressing him into her.

She doesn't know what to do, what to say to make it go away, to take it back, to return them to 'before', to get them back on track. All she can do is raise her hands and cradle his head protectively against her. This is not something she can protect him from thought, it's something that no amount on Kevlar can shield him from. And she feels so helpless in the wake of his own anxiety.

"_Shhh…_" she whispers, shushing him over and over again, trying to sound self-assured and strong, if for nothing else than for his own peace of mind. "It's just a scar," she whispers into the darkness, pressing a series of sweet kisses into his hair. "Hey," she forces in a light tone despite the fact she feels anything but, pushing her hands between her and his head to lift his face, gently but firmly, until he's looking at her. His eyes are wet, glistering in the dim light of his bedroom. The devastated look on his face breaks her heart all over again. The things she can read in those two big blue pools, now nearly completely dark, steal her breath from her chest. They say: '_I wasn't quick enough'_,_ 'I couldn't protect you,'_,_ 'This is all my fault'. _

She shakes her head at him, feverishly, resolutely, anger coursing through her veins. He doesn't get to do that. Not now, not ever. Helpless as what to do, she does the only thing that comes to her mind. She grips his head by his ears, twisting them in an all too familiar manner.

The gesture does have the desired effect. A surprised yelp of pain leaves him and then he blinks at her several times in surprise, as if he just woke from a heavy dream. He looks so adorable in his confused state, eyes still glassy and hair all messy, she cannot help but smile.

"So," she says, the simple word dribbling with as much sultry innuendo as she can muster, "were you going to kiss me or what?" She is still smirking at him, at the way of how caught off guard he really is, deciding she will give him one more second to recover before she takes matters into her own hands, but just as that thought enters her mind, he is already lunging forward, showering her face with light, small kisses, over and over again, and she is shocked when a small, happy laugh escaped her at his actions. Its hushes when his lips find hers, this new kiss anything but shallow, putting an abrupt stop to her laughter, replacing it by a deep, throaty moan.

She twists his ears, he kisses her senseless. She likes it.

He keeps on kissing her, hot and deep and maddening, while their tempo changes. His hands resume their exploration, wandering all over her upper body. When his fingers ghosts over her scars, saving them for the very end in a feather light touch that is so different to his otherwise sure and steady caresses, she nearly comes undone.

How could she have denied them this for so long?

Her hands are doing an exploration of their own, roaming his chest and broad shoulders before returning to his belt once again, her digits starting to work on the button on their own accord.

Her whole body is on fire, simmering from his strokes and kisses, but she wants more. They are at a stalemate of sorts, where he won't go further, and it takes her a moment to work it out in her dazed mind, that the man is still holding back, always holding back, leaving it to her to lead, to set the pace, the lay down the rules.

There are no rules however, not anymore, and she wants him to know. She brings one of her still clad legs up, hooks the flesh of her heel up his calf, his knee, his thigh, before she firmly locks it over his bottom, giving it a pointed nudge. He goes still and she can feel more than really see his fists clench at her sides.

She hides a victorious smile as she raises her head from the pillow, bringing their faces together. She playfully bites his ear, satisfied as a shiver runs through him, before she softly whispers, right inside the shell of his ear, her voice dripping with desire and want: "What are you waiting for Castle? Or was all that talk how _good we'd be_ just a lousy pick up?"

Her words have more than the desired effect. A low grunt leaves his lips, his shoulders setting square in sudden determination. This time, she cannot help the smile from spreading as she withdraws her head, her head falling back onto the pillow, eyes sparking up at him in the dark. It's a challenge he's more than willing to accept. There's a moment when their eyes lock in the near darkness when she finally catches a glimpse of the fire, that all consuming passion for her he's so long smothered inside of him because she's made him wait. And now she can see it bubble to the surface and the anticipation makes her skin crawl.

He meets her in a bruising kiss, lips clashing with teeth and tongue. It's messy and frantic all over again, and she enjoys every second of it, that heat he can ignite deep inside of her chest, that ache spreading between her legs.

She wraps her other leg around him, grinds against him, urging him on. There is still too much clothes between them, and they are in a sudden hurry, fingers and nails and mouths scraping and burning and kneading their way through each other. He is kissing her throat again, his hand underneath her, unclasping her bra, and before she can spend a second on marveling at his skills in this particular department, the flimsy undergarment is out of the way replaced by his mouth and oh God, his hot mouth on her cool flesh is an all new kind of sweet torture. One of his hands joins to assist the mouth, the tender flesh in the center of her breast puckering under his touch, buckling under the methodical circulation of his thumb. She moans loudly and an involuntary expletive leaves her lips and damn, she can feel him smile against her. She would smack him, if he only didn't feel so damn good and fuck, he just bit her nipple, ever so slightly, before running his tongue soothingly across the aching flesh and then blowing air over her now impossibly tight and painful skin.

Her pulse is spiking, her breathing rapid, and she cannot believe how quickly he's worked her up and how aroused she already is when they are still half clothed, but even as she thinks this, he's already kissing his way down her chest, down to her belly button where he stops for a short detour which she cannot help but squirm under and then he dips even lover, licking his way down to the hem of her pants. But even that doesn't seem to stop him in his quest and he pops the button, pushing the unyielding material aside, slowly proceeding to meet the line bordering on her soft, downy hair and Christ, somebody stop him or she'll come right here and now.

Last shreds of sanity, she grasps his shoulders and forces him up to her level again, meeting him in crushing kiss. "The pants need to go, now!" she urges into his ear, and she can feel him smile again. Once again, she would love to smack him, but he's already on the task, shedding his own jeans along with boxer (she feels a momentary pang of regret she didn't get the chance to do that herself) before his focus returns once again to her. With the button open, there is only the zipper left, no challenge at al for a man of Castle's qualities.

His hands circle her waist and disappear between her and the mattress before they dip inside the loosened fabric and cup her ass. She instinctively arches from the mattress and towards him, allowing him to push down both pieces of her remaining clothing in one single fluid motion.

She might have been impressed, under other circumstances, but then it's just them, and she feels a shudder of anticipation run down her spine. Before he has any chance to choose a move of his own, she hooks her leg over his and in a skillful sparring move flips them both on his back, straddling him. He lets out a surprised yelp then lets a smile grace his lips.

She neither sits nor lays on him but is rather somewhere in between, giving him a couple of moments to roam her body unabashedly, both with his eyes as well as his hands. The awe and adoration in his eyes nearly breaks her and she has to close the distance between them, supporting her arms on either side of his head. Her hair is curtaining them when she brings her lips down to his in a slow yet heated kiss, feeling his hands groping her body, the urgency of his erection pressing against her stomach.

She grinds against him and he groans. Their chests are firmly pressed together, their lips locked and his hands slide lower over her back to cup her ass and she releases a moan inside his mouth, only to feel him squeeze more firmly in response. God, she is so ready, so ready for him, and she wants him to know. In an act of utter boldness, she takes his hand while they are still fiercely kissing and pushes his fingers down her body, down and ever lower, through the smudges of downy hair until they hit their mark, releasing them to work from there on their own.

His hand stills for a moment when her hand leaves to his own doing, but then, slowly, ever so carefully, his fingers curl against her, slip inside her folds, caress the swollen flesh. She is dripping wet and he knows it now as well, if the guttural groan that escapes his lips is anything to come by. She is so lost in his touch against her that she barely registers when he flips them back on her back, Castle positioned above her, however, his fingers never leaving her core. She never ever wants them to.

He buries his face into the crook of her neck, biting and nibbling at the sensitive flesh there, but all she can concentrate on are his skillful fingers and oh God, he is gliding further, deeper, and warmth is spreading all through her, from her very center until the very last tip of each of her fingers. She moans louder, spreads her legs wider and brings his face to hers to kiss that smirk she knows must be plastered there away, moaning into his mouth.

Two of his fingers curl inside of her, deeper than ever before, and she gasps with despair and want, his name leaving her lips. It merely makes him continue what he started and God, this is what she wants, what she wants so much, but wait, not like this, not without him, because they are partners and they do things _together_.

"Castle," she warns, but it comes out only as a weak, breathy moan and he hushes her protests with a deep kiss, his tongue dancing over hers in that long and well-practiced synchronization they are so good at.

"Castle…" she moans again, this time more insistent yet he ignores her still and keeps going, stroking, kneading, in and out, and fuck she is going to come if he won't stop right this instant. With her last ounce of strength, she pushes a hand between them, catches his wrist and pulls his working hand away. There is a flash of hurt and misunderstanding in his eyes when they meet hers, but she is aroused way beyond carrying. It makes her bold and indomitable and she makes her point quickly clear when she curls her hand around him, stroking the heated flesh with her fingers, watching his eyes darken and roll in his head before they close shut, his head falling over her chest, a gasp leaving his mouth. A single strangled '_Kate_' leaves his lips and it's more the tone in which he says her name than anything else, that voice full of awe and adoration and love, _always with love_, that for some reason it nearly brings tears to her eyes. She raises her hips, grinding herself against him in invitation and this time he doesn't hesitate, four years of foreplay longer than enough for the both of them.

He pushes inside of her in a single sure and precise stroke and she gasps as she feels herself stretch to accommodate him. His lips are on her throat, slowly working their way to her face, her lips. His kisses turn from heated to tender as he waits, gives her time, filling the moment with tiny kisses, pecks really; to her forehead, to her eyelids, her nose, cheeks, corners of her mouth.

The last place, her lips, he saves for last and it's her who captures his lips hungrily first. He smiles into the kiss, starts slowly rocking back and forth. Her skin crawls with heat and want, her hands encircling his waist, supporting her frame against his broad shoulders. She needs to anchor herself against him, the feelings too intense, all the years building up to this single moment shaping it as far more powerful and strong as she'd ever have guessed.

They don't need too long, both are feeling close way too soon but that's okay, because there will be plenty of time to make up for it later. The thought alone thrills her so much she can barely stand the pressure quickly building in the pit of her stomach. She gasps with her head buried in his shoulder now covered in slick sweat and he answers with a corresponding grunt.

He was right, she realizes, they are more than good at this, because she is embarrassingly quickly out of breath, teetering at the very edge while she wants to go over the edge together with him, as partners, but then he's pushing quicker, harder, and she won't wait, can't, leaving her desperately hoping they'll meet somewhere in the middle. He pushes one more time and that's all it takes for her to fall over the brim, lose herself in him, in _them_. Somewhere, somehow, she knows he is right there, following close behind, his mouth catching hers in a searing, all-consuming kiss.

It takes her a while to come down from her high and calm down her breathing. He is rolled off of her in order not to crush her, lying on his side next to her. His heavy hand rests on her head, calmly brushing the side of her face. Most of his previous intensity is gone now, replaced by a silent contended happiness. His eyes are brimming with everything he feels, with everything they did, with everything they are. She finally manages to curl on her side, catching his eyes as well as the hand caressing her cheek, holding him in place as she graces him with one of her most radiant smiles.

"Hi," she whispers, ridiculously shyly.

He smiles back, that face-splitting, cheeky, endearing smile he seems to lately have in store only for her. "Hi," he answers back.

Without further words, she draws closer, always closer now, curling her side into his, resting her head on his chest. She closes her eyes, draws a shuddering breath.

"Castle?" Despite her quietness, her voice seems to boom in the silence of his bedroom.

"Yeah?" His voice is warm and welcoming, his arm protectively cradling her against him. There is no place in this world she'd rather be now. She takes a deep breath, anchors herself against him.

"You were right. It wasn't a lousy pick up line after all." His answering booming laugh echoes between the walls of his room.

She knows there is still so much left unsaid between them. But there is time now, a promise for the right opportunity to present itself, sooner rather than later.

God, she hopes it will be sooner.


End file.
